Family History
by DodgerNYC
Summary: In 1989, Dodger wonders about Annie and all the dogs that came before him. In 1912, the Tramp and his son Scamp talk about the dogs that will come after them. And what dogs will? Perhaps a bootlegger's dog in the Roaring Twenties, a thieving couple in the Great Depression, or a captain's dog in WWII. You get all kinds with a family history of street dogs.


In New York City, year 1989, a dog was snoozing away the afternoon atop a parked taxi. He looked as if he were a terrier mutt, scruffy white fur with brown on his head, three darker brown spots on his back, and a dirty red bandana tied around his neck. This was, of course, none other than New York's very own coolest quadruped, Dodger.

Normally, Dodger could sleep through anything and would've spent the whole afternoon snoozing on top of the taxi cab, but today he felt pretty restless.

"Fine, fine… no sleep for you, Dodge…" the mutt grumbled to himself. Having given up on his nap, he hopped down from his taxi, stretched his paws out, and took off down the always-crowded Manhattan sidewalk at his usual leisurely strut.

It was another bright and sunny day in early summer for the Big Apple, another day for Dodger to spend in his beloved New York. The question now was what should the Dodge spend his day doing?

Well, standard procedure was to just have fun and mess around in the city until something - or some lady dog - struck his fancy, and why fix what wasn't broken?

"Ooh, _hello_!" Dodger grinned deviously as he caught the scent of a new lady friend, "That didn't take too long."

However, Dodger now realized that he recognized this particular lady's scent. Indeed, following his nose through the crowds to the lovely girl, Dodger stumbled upon…

"Nancy babe!" he greeted his friend. She was a golden-furred mix of a Pomeranian and spaniel, and although they had met just a couple months ago, they were already close.

"Hi Dodger! What are you doing here?" Nancy asked, looking up at the apartment complex she had just come out of.

"I was gonna' ask ya' tha' same question, baby. Did tha' Scoundrels move outta' Harlem an' not tell me?"

"Nah, we're still hanging out in that old subway station. I was just out and about Manhattan today," Nancy explained.

"Why are ya' out by yourself? City can be dangerous for pretty girls like you," Dodger teased.

"Oh, but I'm a girl who looks for a bit of danger," she grinned.

"Are ya'? An' here I thought ya' were just out lookin' for _me_."

"How do you know you're not the danger I'm looking for?" Nancy smiled deviously.

"Oooh, don't get me distracted like this, Nancy babe. I'm still wondering what you're doing by yourself in Manhattan."

Nancy broke into a big, happy smile - not at their flirting, but something else entirely, "Well… I told you that I was with my mom until I was adopted. You know my owners ditched me, but just earlier today I ran into my mom again! I didn't even think she was still in the city, but there she was on the sidewalk and we spent the whole morning together!"

"Ah man, that's great! How's your mom doing now?" Dodger asked.

"Really well! She and her owners stay in this apartment now," Nancy explained, nodding up at the apartment they stood by, "I just came out from seeing her up there, and then I ran into you."

"I gotcha'. So what did you two talk about?" he asked her.

"Oh, you know, just catching up on old times. I asked her some about my grandparents, 'cause I never met them and always wondered what they were like."

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't have," Dodger said, his mind a little blown. He'd never really given any thought to his own grandparents, his great-grandparents - honestly, he'd tried not to think too much about his own _parents_ until Annie has come back into his life and they had reconciled.

"Dodge? What's wrong?" Nancy asked, concerned as he'd suddenly become quiet.

"Oh, it ain't a big deal… Ya' just got me wonderin' about my own ancestors."

"I guess you never met yours either?"

"No, but… I didn't even talk to my _mom_ for such a long time," Dodger reflected sadly. Annie had been gone a few months now, but Dodger could still feel the sting of his mother's death.

But now, Dodger's curiosity about his past ancestors sparked, the fact that she was gone hurt all the more.

"…I can't ask her."

"Can't ask who what?" Nancy asked, confused.

"I can't ask my mom about my grandparents, like you asked your mom," Dodger sighed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dodge! I- I didn't mean to upset you, talking about my mom like that," Nancy immediately apologized, "I didn't think about your own mom… Sorry."

"It's okay. I'm glad you met back up with your mother, really glad," Dodger smiled to calm her down, "I'm just curious now about my ancestors."

"Well… maybe we can find out about them!"

"How are we supposed ta' do that?" Dodger asked.

"Do you know who your dad was? Did he live in New York?"

"Not even my mom knew who my dad was."

"Oh… Okay, well… I guess we'll have to find someone who knew your mom."

"I'm afraid a lotta' dogs knew my mom," Dodger sighed.

"Well, someone must've been really close to her. Maybe Annie told them about her parents," Nancy reasoned.

"There's Einstein. I guess Annie might've told him something about her parents when she stayed with tha' Company," Dodger speculated. Annie and Einstein had indeed been very close in the months the two old dogs had known each other.

"Sure! Let's go ask him!" Nancy smiled.

"Ya' coming along? Ya' don't have to if ya' don't want to."

"But I _do_ want to," she grinned, and Dodger couldn't help but grin back. With that, the two dogs set off to the Company's new apartment in Chelsea. If all went well, then Dodger would find out about his mother's parents, her grandparents, and maybe even beyond that.

Who knew?

* * *

In an old New England town, year 1912, a dog was snoozing away the afternoon on the porch of a large white house. He was definitely a mutt, his fur a shade somewhere between gray and brown, himself somewhat resembling a Schauzer what with his floppy ears, scruffy chin, and scraggly coat. The dog had a red collar around his neck, an accessory he'd been used to for more than a year now.

The Schnauzer mutt had been asleep for quiet some time now, so, his afternoon nap finished, he gave a big yawn, stretched his paws out, and hopped down from the porch into the yard.

The mutt stretched his back out, then laughed up at the bright sky of another good day, "Ah, what are daylight hours for if not to nap?"

"How about exploring? Days are for running around and having a good time, Dad!" another dog called out happily. The mutt turned around to see his son, a mix of a purebred Cocker Spaniel and his own Schnauzer mutt-ness who, for some reason, turned out looking exactly like his father and nothing like his mother.

"Well then, Scamp, you clearly don't know where the real fun lies," the mutt grinned at his son, "Days are best suited for napping. _Nights_, on the other hand, are the most fun and adventure you'll ever have out and about the town. And trust me - I speak from experience."

"That so? Then how about you and I go run around town later tonight? You can show me all the cool stuff you did out on the streets back when you were the greatest street dog that ever was!" Scamp barked excitedly.

"I don't know about that, Whirlwind. You may be older now, but I don't quite think you're old enough for all the cool stuff _I _did out on the streets, especially at night," his father said.

"Aww, c'mon, Dad!" Scamp begged, "It'll be fun! You and I got out a lot more now, so why not tonight?"

"I don't know if I feel up to it, Scamp. After all, I did all that stuff when I was a much younger dog," he explained to his son, "That was back when I was _THE_ Tramp, not just Tramp."

"Well, you're still the Tramp to me, Dad," Scamp said proudly.

"I am?"

"Sure are!"

Tramp grinned at his feisty, energetic son, hardly mellowed out from his puppy days. Watching his beloved son growing bigger and bigger day after day, Tramp only became more and more proud of his little Whirlwind.

"Did I ever tell you how much you look like your mother, Scamp?" Tramp asked warmly.

"Huh?" Scamp asked, shocked beyond belief.

Tramp burst out laughing at his son's reaction, "I'm just kidding, Whirlwind! You don't look a thing like your mother. I've got no idea why."

"Beats me," Scamp shrugged.

Tramp walked around the yard, looking for a good spot to lie back down, deciding upon the top of the doghouse. Scamp ran over, flopping ungracefully to the ground beside the doghouse. His dad grinned and asked him, "You ever thought about what your own kids might look like?"

"_My_ kids? I don't think about that sort of thing, Dad!"

"What? You and Angel aren't already talking about that?"

"No way! Angel's just my friend! And she's a girl!" Scamp insisted.

Tramp gave him a very knowing look.

"Okay, okay, so she's my girlfriend. But that doesn't mean we're gonna have - y'know- "

"It's alright, I understand. I remember my first puppy love, too," Tramp laughed, then thought back, "…She was cute. She was real cute."

"_Dad_."

"Alright, alright!" Tramp grinned, "Sorry, I don't mean to tease you about Angel. I just can't help but wonder what my grandkids, maybe even my great-grandkids might look like… You think about this sort of thing at my age. I just like to think there'll be a long line of dogs after you and me, Whirlwind."

"There will be, Dad! And they'll all be wild street dogs!" Scamp beamed.

"It's always street dogs with you, isn't it?" Tramp chuckled.

"Yep! Like you, Dad!"

His father laughed again, very proud of his growing son, curious as to what the future would hold for Scamp, Scamp's own puppies, those puppies' puppies… maybe their lineage would go on forever. And maybe Scamp's son would look exactly like Scamp and nothing like the mother.

Who knew?

* * *

In downtown Chicago, year 1925, a dog was accompanying a man, who was very well-dressed in his pinstriped suit, pocket watch in one hand and a briefcase in the other. The dog beside him was a scraggly-furred mutt, his coat a dark gray shade, his floppy ears making him somewhat like a Schnauzer.

"C'mon, Gatsby, let's go, let's go," the man said to his dog. As he picked up speed walking down the street, the clink of bottles could be heard from inside the briefcase - odd, as briefcases were usually used for carrying papers.

The pinstripe-suited man's dog, Gatsby, grinned deviously as the two of them approached a rather suspicious-looking diner found in a back alley of an almost-certainly ill-reputed part of Chicago.

"Okay, boy, you stand watch. Bark if any a' them cops come nearby," the man ordered, scratching Gatsby's head, then knocking on the shady diner's door.

"Password?"

"_Swordfish_."

The door opened, and the man picked up his briefcase of illegality and entered, while Gatsby stood guard outside.

At least, he did for maybe five seconds. Gatsby laughed to himself and immediately took off down the Chicago back alley, making his way through the streets where bars and businesses of questionable morality prospered.

Gatsby passed by a police officer entering one of the immoral business houses.

"Woof, woof," Gatsby said dryly upon seeing the cop, "There. I barked. My sacred duty has been fulfilled."

"Gatsby! Why, you handsome devil!" a lovely Rottweiler girl called as she saw him approach.

"Ya' ain't with ya' owner tonight?" another girl, a Labrador Retriever, asked as she too came up to Gatsby.

"Now, Candy, I've told ya' before - I own him, not the other way around," Gatsby corrected the giggling retriever babe, "An' when do I ever stay with him, anyways?"

"Ooh, such a _rebel_, Gatsby," the Rottweiler girl flirted.

"Well, that's my nature, my dear Sugar," Gatsby laughed, giving her a completely-unnecessary wink, "After all, I come from a proud line of street dogs."

"Really! Wow!" Candy gasped.

"Ooh, do tell," Sugar giggled, her tail wagging excitedly.

"Well… if you ladies _insist_," Gatsby sighed, as if he hadn't wanted to tell them, "My father was very proudly a vagabond. He lived his life traveling the open road, havin' a good old time in any town he stopped at. Dad once told me that his hometown was far away from our lovely Chicago, some area he called New England. He was raised ta' be a street dog by his mother, who'd lived out in tha' countryside, snatchin' chickens offa' farms, chasin' squirrels all day long - a life any dog would die for. Now, her father- "

"_GATSBY_!"

"Uh oh," Gatsby gasped, his tale interrupted by his owner running down the streets being chased by a police officer.

"Time ta' fly, ladies! Always a pleasure," Gatsby grinned, then took off racing down the sidewalk, darting into another alley, being chased by his owner and the policeman chasing his owner.

"What a dog," Candy sighed.

"Such a _rebel_!" Sugar giggled.

* * *

In an old barn, year 1934, a dog was hiding from a very angry farmer. She grinned to herself, knowing the farmer would likely shoot her if he got the chance. That was being rather unsportsmanlike of him, in her opinion, as they were both simply trying to obtain enough food to survive. It wasn't her fault if she was more successful at stealing his chickens than he was guarding them.

The thieving dog was a complete mutt, and very proud of that fact. She considered herself the best of everything - a mix of a retriever, add in some beagle, a dash of Schnauzer somewhere down the line, shake it all up and you got one beautiful, thieving Miss Bonnie.

"Where are you, you stupid mutt?" she heard the farmer call out.

Why put an end to their game? He could be as unsportsmanlike as he wished, she wanted to keep up the fun. Up from the rafters of the barn house, Bonnie barked merrily.

"I hear you! I hear you! I'll teach you to eat my chickens!" the farmer yelled, firing his rifle and missing her by a mile. The only thing he accomplished was putting a new hole in his barn's roof.

"Aah! No! How am I supposed to pay for _that_!" he shrieked, "Mutt!"

"Well, time to make my great escape!" Bonnie grinned, leaping down from the rafters, landing in a haystack, and dashing out of the barn before the farmer could ready his rifle. She sped across the farmyard, darting behind the farmhouse with a big grin, and colliding headfirst into a big German Shepherd.

"Bonnie!" the German Shepherd whispered angrily.

"Well, if it isn't my _man_, Clyde," she grinned slyly. Clyde, however, was not very amused.

"Bonnie, you've been stealing my master's chickens! _Again_!" Clyde said, trying his best to stay quiet so his farmer wouldn't find them.

"Aww, come on, Clyde baby!" Bonnie rolled her eyes, "I've gotta eat, too!"

"I already share my food with you! And food is scare enough around here as it is!" Clyde chastised her, "My master needs the food - and the chickens - to feed his family!"

"_Pfft_. He's a farmer, he can grow his own food."

"It's not funny, Bonnie!" he nearly barked, then quieted down, his facing becoming much sadder as he told her, "…The crop failed this year. I suppose it's all the dust that did it… but I don't know what my master's gonna do. I've heard them say the country's in a depression."

'I'm sorry to hear that… but if you want the truth, Clyde.." Bonnie sighed, deciding it was time to fess up, "…I've been stealing all the extra food because… well, you're gonna be a daddy before too long."

Clyde was shocked speechless, understandably so. For a while, he said nothing, heaved a great sigh and asked her, "…What are you going to do?"

"_I'm _gonna leave this farm before I get shot. Then I'm gonna try to raise our puppies all by myself as I wander through the countryside with no steady source of food available to me or our puppies. What are you going to do?"

"I - don't- don't say it like that, Bonnie! I don't know what I'm going to do!" the German Shepherd whispered, his voice shaking, "I can't just leave my master! Not in this depression!"

"Okay. Them I'm going alone," she shrugged, walking away from the farmhouse and out into the field without once looking back at him. She would find some way to survive… her dad had told her that her ancestors had all be wild street dogs. If they could live a life of uncertainty, then so could she. Bonnie just wished she didn't have to live it all alone.

As the sun fell behind the line of trees on the horizon, Bonnie settled down into the softest spot of dead, dusty grass available to her, trying to fall asleep over the rumbling of her stomach. Hard to believe they were hungry again.

But she had no food to give them that night. Sighing, she set her head on the ground, closed her eyes, but couldn't fall asleep. But them, incredibly, she smelled chicken.

There was Clyde, holding a dead chicken in his jaws. To her, it was the most wonderful sight in whole world.

"So… where to tomorrow?" Clyde asked her quietly.

"Tomorrow? I'm asking where to _tonight_," Bonnie grinned, wolfing down the last of the chicken, "Who could sleep with these rascals kicking me?"

And so, Bonnie and Clyde took off across the field together, the sun setting across the horizon.

* * *

In a trench on a muddy battlefield, year 1944, a dog raced to find his master, his partner. He was a mixed dog, something like a German Shepherd, a little like a retriever, and a bit like a terrier. The mutt passed by soldiers, all carrying burdens far heavier than their armor and weaponry; the men's faces, usually solemn and grim, brightened as they saw the dog among their numbers.

But this dog, though happy to boost their morale in the midst of war, was on a mission, delivering a message to his master, owner, partner, a man that he knew at Captain. Passing by more soldiers, pausing only to grieve for a fallen warrior, the messenger dog finally spotted Captain.

"Bucky!" Captain called out as his partner arrived with the message. The soldier scratched Bucky's head and took the vital message his dog's collar. Reading the note, Captain quickly gave orders to his men, "Advance! Advance! Go!"

The soldiers moved forward, dodging bullets from enemy lines. Bucky charged alongside Captain, the two partners inseparable on the battlefield; Captain skilled from his many years of training, and Bucky from the line of tough street dogs in his family. They reached their next trench, taking cover from the enemy attack.

"We're gonna win, Bucky," Captain huffed, grinning at his best friend, "We're gonna win. You and me, partner. We'll win this war."

Bucky barked confidently.

* * *

In the garage of an auto shop on Long Island, year 1979, a dog was comforting her young puppy. The mother and daughter were both mutts, but strongly resembled terriers. The mother dog's fur was dusty brown, her ears floppy, three darker brown spots on her back. Her little daughter was more sandy-colored, but also had the three brown spots on her back, as well as a layer of dirt and dust accumulating in her fur.

"Come on, love. We've a long journey ahead of us," the mother said to her puppy, "Are you well-rested?"

The puppy nodded her head.

"Alright then. We'd better get a move on it…" the mother sighed.

"Where are we going, Momma?' her daughter asked quietly.

"The big city, love. New York City. There'll be much more food for you in the city than in our garage here," the mother explained.

"Will I like the city, Momma?"

"I hope you will," she sighed, looking out the garage window at the city's skyscrapers barely visible in the distance, "It's our best chance, love."

"Okay, Momma."

Her mother licked her face affectionately, hoping to provide some small comfort before they set off on their journey. She had picked out a name she liked for her little daughter, honestly just because she doubted a human owner would ever give her a name.

They were simply street dogs, doing the best they could to survive on the open road, through the countryside, on the city streets, it never changed. No human would ever own them, no one would provide shelter for the street dogs. They had their lives of freedom, sure, but they had to live on the edge, lived full of danger and uncertainty. But that was just how a street dog lived. Always had been, always would be.

"Come on, Annie," the mother called out to her young daughter. With that, the two mutts took off for New York City, their hope for a better life.

* * *

In an old New England town, year 1912, the Tramp and his son Scamp were lying in the front yard of their home, watching the sun fall down behind the town's line of rooftops.

"Well, Whirlwind… still want me to show around the town at night?" he asked with a devious grin.

"Yeah! Yeah, let's go! Ah, thanks Dad!" Scamp barked excitedly, but then asked his father in concern, "But… I thought you didn't feel up to it. You sure?"

"Oh yeah, I'll be fine. I may be your old man, but I'm not _that _old yet! I'm not about to throw out my title as the greatest street dog that ever way just 'cause I'm a little bit older!" the Tramp grinned, playfully hitting Scamp on the head with his paw.

"Awesome! Let's go, Dad! C'mon!"

Scamp then kicked up his back leg to scratch and itch behind his ear.

"Hey… isn't that how I scratch, Whirlwind?" the Tramp laughed, kicking up his back leg as well, scratching behind his own ear in the exact same way.

"Yeah, I guess it is the same way!" Scamp grinned.

The Tramp rolled his eyes, laughing at his beloved son's wild antics. Would all the dogs to come after his Scamp in their family be as energetic as his son? As adventurous? As fun-loving, excitable, or spirited as his son? Would Scamp's son look exactly like his father and grandfather?

Who knew?

* * *

In New York City, year 1989, the Dodge and Nancy were walking down the sidewalk together. Nancy sighed sadly, "Sorry we didn't find out very much about your family history, Dodger."

"Hey, cheer up, beautiful," Dodger grinned his trademark cocky grin, "I think we found out plenty."

Einstein hadn't exactly told them plenty, but Annie hadn't told Einstein very much about her ancestors in the first place. All Einy had been able to tell Dodger was that Annie and her mother had traveled from an abandoned old garage to New York City when she was very little. Annie had been separated from her mother in the big city not long after that, so Annie herself had known nothing about her grandparents, her great-grandparents, not even much about her own mother.

"But we haven't learned about your grandparents or their parents or anything," Nancy said dejectedly.

"That's alright. I guess it woulda' been nice ta' know, but I don't suppose it really matters too much. I'm here now, an' I'm good enough for me!"

"I guess that's one way of looking at it," Nancy laughed.

"I say it's tha' best way ta' took at it," Dodger grinned. Feeling an itch, Dodger kicked up his back leg and scratched behind his ear, "Wanna' grab something ta' eat?"

"I'd love to."


End file.
